The Blutbad, The Witch, and The Mineshaft
by LaylaBinx
Summary: Nick had not only been clawed open but poisoned as well and there was still a very pissed off, very hungry witch prowling around above their heads. Yep, that about summed it up. Shameless h/c! Possible Slash later on :D
1. Down the Hole

**Hello all! Man, this fandom has really sucked me in O.o I've been writing like crazy lately! This story is actually a combination of three prompts from the LJ/Dreamwidth page: Nick poisoned, trapped, and clawed open. I really love beating on him if you couldn't tell ^.- Hope you all like it! :D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! =/**

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"You're an idiot."

"You may have mentioned that before."

"No, I mean you're _really_ an idiot. A complete and total idiot. I'd call you a moron but it would be an insult to morons everywhere."

"Gee, thanks."

"Don't mention it." Monroe is pacing, looking up at the dark, dirt-lined walls in disgust. There's wooden beams vaulting the walls and ceilings and the metal railing below their feet is rusted from years of disuse. The whole tunnel smells like damp, cold earth and spongy moss and it's difficult to concentrate on anything else. Well, except for the fact that they're trapped. Yeah, it's kinda hard to get past that idea. The wolf inside him is thoroughly put out by that because wolves do not like to be caged in.

"You just _had _to go bother the witch…" Monroe mutters, still not facing Nick. He's so pissed at him right now he's pretty sure if he faces him for longer than a few seconds, he'll try to strangle him with his bare hands. It was Nick's fault they were stuck in this position in the first place. If he had just listened to him, they wouldn't be trapped in an abandoned mine shaft in the middle of the forest while being hunted by a witch who wanted nothing more than to make Nick her next meal.

Monroe had warned him about confronting the witch, he'd told him all the reasons he shouldn't do it and Nick had stubbornly ignored him and gone anyway, Monroe following irritably along behind him all the way. Witches couldn't be reasoned with, they weren't like the other Grimm creatures that still had a shred of humanity. Witches hunted Grimms like game animals and tended to gut, skin, and cook them like game animals as well. Grimms were their main source of food and Nick just happened to live right in the vicinity of one who had taken quite a liking to him. She'd already made two attempts on Nick this month alone and when the detective had gotten tired of it and decided to confront her, there was very little Monroe could do to stop him. Sure, he could incapacitate him or tie him to the bed but that wouldn't stop Nick; he'd find a way to get out into the woods and look for the witch no matter what Monroe did. The best thing he could do was just follow along after him and make sure he didn't get himself killed and eaten in the process.

That plan had quickly vanished when the witch unleashed a literal version of "I am woman, hear me roar" and tried to bring the forest down on top of them. During their attempted escape, Nick had managed to find the one soft spot over an abandoned mine shaft and tumbled through, Monroe falling through a step behind him. A fallen tree had partially obscured the opening but there was still enough light to see they were well and truly screwed. They had no idea where the tunnel let out and going out through the hole they'd fallen through was balancing right on the line of "out of the question" because Monroe could still smell the witch outside, her scent hovering just around the opening of the mine shaft.

"Think there's a way out?" Nick asked from behind him and Monroe had to physically grit his teeth to avoid snapping at him.

"Yes, Nick, I think there's a way out but I'm not sure how we're going to get to it. We have no idea how far into the mine we are and the opening could be that way," he said, pointing in one direction. "Or it could be that way," he pointed the other direction and let his hand fall bonelessly to his side. The smell of the witch combined with the wet, muddy smell of the tunnel made it nearly impossible to tell where fresh air was coming from. They could be in here for hours, even days, trying to find their way out, and it was all because Nick decided to go get bitchy with a witch. God, stupid Grimm! "You might as well make yourself comfortable, we're not going anywhere for a while," Monroe grumbled, sighing irritably.

"Damn, I should have brought a deck of cards," Nick mumbled softly. He was sitting against the wall of the tunnel, one knee drawn up to his chest, the other leg stretched out straight in front of him. His head was tilted back against the wall and his face was covered in dust and grime from their fall but otherwise he looked fine. Still, there was something in his voice, a clipped tightness that's usually indicative of pain that caused Monroe to finally turn around and look at him.

The blutbad frowns, unconsciously sniffing the air and trying to figure out if something was amiss. Still, the only thing he can smell is dirt and witch and damn is that frustrating. He takes a step closer to the detective on the ground, still sniffing the air cautiously. Then he notices it: copper, hot and sharp and metallic. Nick is bleeding.

Monroe is at his side instantly, all anger and irritation forgotten. He notices one of Nick's arms pressed tightly against one side, leather jacket pressed firmly against underlying material. Nick isn't looking at him, his eyes are turned upwards toward the hole they fell through, and in the dim light Monroe can see he's sweating a bit.

"Nick," he says his name firmly, trying to keep his voice calm and measured while he's silently panicking inside. The detective rolls his head down to look at him and his dark eyes are shadowed with pain. Monroe feels his concern double. "What happened?"

The younger man doesn't answer, he just pulls his jacket to the side slightly and Monroe can see blood, dark and slick and dripping, coating one side of his shirt. The blutbad jerks away instantly, his senses overpowered by the smell of Nick's blood and sharp, canine fangs stabbing at the insides of his mouth. His breathing is hard and hoarse for a minute as he struggles to control himself, his eyes flickering between brown and red and settling somewhere right in the middle to make them look amber. He clenches one hand on the dirt floor, sharp claws cutting painfully into his palms. The wolf inside is growling ferally, the scent of the Grimm's blood driving it over the edge. Its everything Monroe can do not to lose control right then and there. If Nick is bothered by any of this, he doesn't show it, he just keeps his back pressed against the wall and one arm pressed tightly against his bleeding side.

When Monroe is finally able to regain control of himself, he takes a few unsteady breaths and inches his way back toward Nick. The detective still hasn't moved and his skin seems paler than it had a moment before. His face is deceptively neutral but there are lines of pain around his eyes and Monroe vaguely wonders why Nick is trying to keep on a brave face in front of him. He grasps the edge of the jacket, wincing a bit as his fingers slip against the bloody material, and peels it back.

Nick's shirt is shredded along the right side and the amount of blood is alarming but Monroe can't tell where its coming from. He carefully lifts up the hem of Nick's shirt and pulls it over bloody skin to inspect to wound. There are three diagonal gashes along Nick's ribs, each one deep and and wide and bleeding heavily. Monroe curses softly. "Shit man, did she get you?"

Nick winces as the blutbad probes the wounds gently and gasps sharply. His face drains of what little color it had left. "I didn't think it was that bad…"

Monroe curses again, his fingers slick with blood as he measures the depth and length of each gash. He vaguely remembered the witch taking a swipe at Nick when they first found her but they had been too busy running for their lives to give it much thought after that. She'd hit her mark though, and a good one at that. Each gash was easily eight inches long and deep enough to nearly see the bone. Nick is losing a lot of blood but for once that's not Monroe's biggest concern at the moment. No, what he's worried about is the bitter, sulfuric smell that's emanating from the wound. That bitch had venom in her claws.

"Shit…shit…okay, you're going to be fine, alright?" Monroe isn't sure if he's trying to reassure himself or Nick. He knows for a fact that a witch's poison can be fatal and if the wound occurred when Monroe thinks it did, then the poison has been circulating through Nick's bloodstream for close to an hour. Sitting still is making it flood his system and settle in. Nick can apparently read the look on his face well enough to know that something is seriously wrong because he struggles to sit up, gripping Monroe's arm for support. Monroe frowns at him and plants a hand on his shoulder. "Whoa, whoa…what do you think you're doing?"

"We need to find a way out…" Nick gasps out, his voice tight and filtering through clenched teeth. He pushes against Monroe's hand and nearly pitches forward when the blutbad gives a little. Its only lightning fast reflexes that keep him from taking a face plant in the floor of the tunnel and Monroe props him back against the wall.

"Whoa…easy, take it easy…" Monroe mutters, keeping one hand on the injured Grimm's shoulder and the other pressed on the ground beside him in case he decides to fall forward again. Nick is breathing heavily and smell of sulfur is getting worse. "Dude, you can't even sit up on your own right now, let alone try to stand. Besides, we've got bigger problems to worry about." Namely the fact that Nick had not only been clawed open but poisoned as well and there was still a very pissed off, very hungry witch prowling around above their heads. Yeah, that about summed it up.

Monroe curses again softly and looks back up at the hole they'd fallen through. They'd fallen a good eight feet which meant the hole was easily two feet above Monroe's head. That was the quickest and most direct way out so it only seemed logical to try that first. The poison was working too fast for Nick to go wandering around through the tunnel and Monroe wasn't about to leave him alone to find a way out. So up seemed to be the way to go. Granted, he'd more than likely come face to face with a pissed, Grimm-seeking witch but he had to try.

He looks around the tunnel, trying to find something he can use to prop himself up high enough to reach the mouth of the hole. A few feet down from them a pile of rubble and broken tree blocks nearly half of the tunnel. If he could get a good-sized piece of the tree or even a big enough rock, he'd be able to reach the hole. Hesitantly, he lets go of Nick's shoulder and walks over to the pile, sifting through the chunks of dirt and twigs to get to the bigger pieces below. He manages to find a large chunk of broken wood and hefts it out of the pile of dirt, dragging it over to where they fell and propping it up below the hole.

He stands on it carefully, balanced precariously on the broken wood. It wobbles threateningly beneath him but holds his weight for the moment, allowing him to catch an outcropped root and hoist himself a little ways out. He looks around carefully, scanning the trees with sharp eyes. He can't see the witch but he can smell her, pungent and sickly sweet like garbage that's been left out in the sun. They have a break for the time being and he needs to get Nick out of there fast.

He drops back into tunnel and crouches down next to Nick. The younger man's eyes are flickering across the ceiling of the tunnel like he's watching shadows crawl across the wooden beams. There's a thin layer of sweat clinging to his face and he looks like he's struggling not to be sick.

"Nick?" Monroe cups his hand to the side of the younger man's neck, rousing him to alertness enough to look at him. Nick's skin is sweltering to the touch and he can feel the detective's pulse pounding madly against his palm. The poison is beginning to take effect and Nick doesn't have much more time to spare. "I'm going to help lift you out of the tunnel first, okay? Think you can do that?"

Nick nods hesitantly but the movement is jerky and uncoordinated and he immediately grips Monroe's arms to keep himself grounded. "Ugh…what's happening to me…?" He asks, swallowing thickly to keep from getting sick all over the blutbad's shirt.

"You're sick, man. That witch poisoned you when she clawed you." Monroe grabs a handful of Nick's jacket and pulls him forward, catching the younger man when he nearly falls over completely. He loops an arm around his waist and hoists Nick to his feet, keeping him pressed firmly to his side to keep him from falling. Nick's knees buckle and it nearly drops them both to ground but Monroe manages to catch them both before that can happen.

He drags him over to the chunk of tree he found and steps back up onto the flatter end, holding Nick in his arms. The detective is breathing hard and he can barely stand on his own; it looks like the very effort of staying conscious is trying to knock him back to the ground. He clings to Monroe tightly, pale hands surprisingly strong against his arm. He's ready but Monroe is afraid to let him go. Some small, animal part of his brain insists that he should be touching the younger man at all times. Still, they don't really have the luxury of a choice on their side and he sighs heavily. The blutbad positions Nick a little in front of him, keeping one arm around his waist to keep him from falling.

"Okay, on three, alright? One…two…three." He lifts Nick as high as he can and to his credit, Nick manages to catch a handful of solid earth on his first try. He pulls himself out of the hole, biting back a cry of pain as the rough terrain tears at his open wounds. Dirt and leaves stick to the bloody remains of his shirt and the gashes are throbbing relentlessly. Nick is struggling to keep his eyes open, gasping raggedly with each breath, and trying not to pass out while Monroe is still stuck in the tunnel.

Monroe can hear Nick gasping in pain from his position below the hole and the wolf inside of him is snarling to get out. He uses that strength, just for a minute, to grab the edge of the hole and pull himself up. Fresh waves of dirt fall beneath him and cling to his clothes, making his skin feel gritty and rough. He can still smell the dankness of the tunnel but more than that he can smell fresh air and Nick's blood and while he's relieved to be out of that mine shaft, he knows he can't relish the feeling for long.

Nick is only a few feet away from him, flat on his back and breathing heavily. He looks terrible, his skin a waxy grey color, and Monroe knows they need to get out of the forest and get him some help. Fast. He's on his knees instantly, crawling to Nick's side across the leaf covered forest floor.

But then she's there, one foot on top of Nick's chest and grinning triumphantly down at Monroe. He can smell the pungent, wet garbage smell that hangs around the witch and he's pretty sure he'd be gagging if it weren't for the growl building in his throat. She smiles sweetly down at him, her teeth jagged and sharp. "Thank you for the help. I thought I was going to have to dig him out all by myself."

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**Crap! The witch is back! Time for Monroe to protect his Grimm ^.-**


	2. A Grimm Death Match

**Whoo! Time for the ultimate showdown! XD I originally wrote this chapter in one fell swoop but everything started to blur together so I split them in half. Hope you guys like it! :D**

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Monroe is baring his teeth at the witch before he's even aware of it and all he can see is a haze of red that has absolutely nothing to do with the smear of Nick's blood across the dry leaves. He's so close to Nick he could reach out and touch him but the witch standing above them makes the small distance seem like miles. He's on his knees almost instantly, making a diving lunge at her, but she stops him with a look and he falls back to the ground motionless. He's struggling to move but it feels like there's a half ton of lead sitting on top of his back. He growls in frustration as she crouches down next to Nick, long claw-like fingernails caressing his cheek almost lovingly.

"My goodness…this one's just a baby isn't he?" She asks, a wicked smile forming across her lips. Nick's eyes are closed and Monroe can't tell if he's conscious or not which is probably a good thing because the witch is hovering just inches from his face. "He doesn't even have all the scars like the others yet." Her hair and eyes are dark, the color of black coffee, and she would be strikingly beautiful if it weren't for the jagged rows of teeth that lined her mouth like a shark's. "I prefer mine young though…they taste fresher that way."

"Get off of him!" Monroe snarls and he can hear a roar of blood in his ears from the struggle he's putting up against the spell she has him under. He's pushing with every ounce of strength he possesses and it's not making a bit of difference. He's pinned to the ground like a moth in a display case and Nick is about to be murdered right in front of him.

"Temper, temper," the witch admonishes and the pressure increases to the point where Monroe can barely breathe. "You know, you should be thanking me. One less Grimm is the world is good for our kind. He may seem friendly now but if you ever cross the line he'll come after you." She looks at him curiously, tilting her head to the side in a way that's almost cute. "You know that, don't you?"

Monroe doesn't answer, he just continues to struggle violently against her spell. He needs to get to Nick…he needs to get him to safety…

"But you know…" She turns her gaze away from Monroe, looking back at Nick's lax features and nuzzling the side of his face gently like a cat. "He's such a pretty one…I may just keep him alive for a few days and have some fun with him." She dips her head to Nick's throat, licking a long, clean line from his collarbone to his temple. "I'll be the best he ever had…"

Monroe actually gnashes his teeth at her for this remark and the wolf inside is aching to be set free, the thirst for the witch's blood becoming almost unbearable.

The witch ignores him completely, her attention focused entirely on the unconscious detective. Her fingers brush over his blood soaked shirt lightly, sharp nails tiptoeing delicately over the tacky fabric. Her fingernails are a strange green color, like antifreeze, and Monroe can smell sulfur on her from where he's laying. "Its a shame I had to poison him though…it always makes them taste so bitter," She makes a face and shakes her head, smiling a little when Nick winces as her fingers brush over the edge of one of the gashes. "We'll just have to find a way to drawn that out when we get home, won't we?"

"Get off!" Monroe snarls again, managing to wrench one arm forward before it's immediately pinned back to the ground. His fingernails have sharpened into claws and he's having a hard time talking past the rows of sharp teeth filling his own mouth but he doesn't care. All he cares about is Nick.

The witch gives him another jagged smile that could almost be called apologetics if not for the gleam in her eyes. "Sorry, puppy dog…this one belongs to me now..."

"Don't belong…to anyone…" There's a loud pop, muffled by the sound of flesh and fabric, and the witch is thrown momentarily off balance as the bullet ricochets through her stomach. She lands in a crumpled heap a few feet away and Monroe finds he's suddenly regained the ability to move. In less than a second, he's crossed the few feet separating him and Nick and is standing over the injured detective protectively. The gun is hanging from Nick's fingers limply and he's breathing hard like he's just run a marathon. That last burst of energy seemed to have done him in though and he collapses back to the ground, eyes closed and unmoving. Monroe sees this from the corner of his eye and the rage is renewed tenfold. His eyes are burning red, sharp claws extended and ready, and he's glaring at the witch furiously.

She sits up a moment later, a deep scowl cutting across her jagged mouth, and sneers at him. "You'll pay for that, Grimm," she growls and almost instantly Nick is writhing on the ground, eyes squeezed shut tightly and loud, guttural cries of pain emanating from his mouth. Monroe snarls at her and launches himself across the clearing, catching her in the chest and sending them both tumbling over the forest floor.

At first, the blows are nothing but claws and teeth, a blur of pain and blood and fury. Monroe ends up with four deep scratches in his leg and the witch ends up with a chunk of muscle missing from her shoulder. Monroe's wounds begin to heal, the witch's don't. She's bleeding and it's dark and greasy like an oil slick on top of water. She glares at him, broken-glass teeth flashing in the grey light of the forest. Her poison won't kill him; sure, it hurts like hell but it's only lethal to humans. Monroe has the advantage in this situation and she knows it.

She makes a move toward Nick and Monroe lunges again, throwing her to the ground violently. She slashes him across the face and he can feel her magic trying to render him motionless again but she's distracted and can't manage to focus on the task at hand. This comes to Monroe's advantage as well and his claws tear into her flesh deeply, drawing more greasy, black blood. She hisses at him, dark eyes furious and deadly.

"Why are you protecting him?" She snarls, sharp claws digging into his wrists and shining with his blood. "You know what he is!"

The voice that comes from Monroe's mouth is more wolf than human but it speaks with perfect clarity so the message cannot possibly be misconstrued. "He's mine!" The wolf goes in for the kill, dagger-like teeth clamping down on the witch's throat and drawing a mouthful of black blood. Her cries are cut short with a sickening crunch and then everything goes silent.

Monroe pulls back after a minute, spitting thick, black sludge from his mouth and glaring back down at the witch. Her eyes are wide open, her mouth frozen in a silent scream, and it's all he can do not to grin sadistically down at her. The wolf is triumphant in its victory and wants to gloat in celebration but Eddie can't focus on that right now...he needs to get back to Nick.

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**Gotta love Monroe being a badass and protecting his Grimm ^.-**


	3. Into the Witch's House

**Time for some hardcore whumpage of our favorite detective ^.-**

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The detective is curled on one side, motionless and still, by the time Monroe reaches him. His eyes are closed and Monroe can barely hear him breathing as he crouches down next to him, sickening dread filling his stomach. "Nick!" He says, cupping he younger man's face and brushing his thumb over his cheekbone. Nick's skin is grey and cool to the touch and Monroe has to fight the urge to flinch when he touches him. "Nick! Come on man, don't do this to me!"

Finally, after a few heart-stopping moments, the detective's eyes flutter open and he looks up at Monroe blearily. His gaze is unfocused and glassy but he manages to lock eyes with the blutbad. "…she gone…?"

Monroe nods and quickly gathers Nick in his arms, swallowing thickly when his hands become slicked with Nick's blood. "Yeah, she's gone. I took care of it," he unconsciously glances over to the witch's dead body before looking back at Nick. "Come on, we have to get you some help."

Nick doesn't say anything, his head lolling limply against Monroe's shoulder as the blutbad takes off through the trees. Night is beginning to set and Monroe knows they won't make it through the forest before dark. He needs to find some kind of shelter for the night so he can tend to Nick's wounds. The witch's cabin wasn't too far away and with any luck he'd be able to find something to treat to poison there as well. He remembered her saying something about drawing the poison out so there had to be something there he could use.

The cabin appears after about a mile, small and tucked away in a thicket of trees and brambles. Monroe latches onto the sight and keeps running, Nick hanging limply in his arms. His muscles are burning both from exertion and the witch's poison coursing through his own system but he barely notices it. Nick is heavy and lifeless in his arms and he pushes himself to go faster.

He nearly breaks down the door when they reach the cabin and walks inside, immediately laying Nick out on a long flat table in the middle of the room. He ignores the shackles and bloodstains embedded in the wood and turns his attention to the rows of jars and bottles lining the walls. Everything inside them is dried and crumbling and there's a few that are lined with blood and other viscous fluids. There's one filled with frogs, another with spiders, and one jar is filled to the lid with human fingers. Monroe ignores all of them and searches for one in particular. He has no idea what he looking for, he just knows what it should smell like. There's a small bottle, tucked far back into one corner, and he would have looked right past it if it didn't smell like sulfur and rotten eggs. He grabs it and walks back over to Nick.

The bottle is small and dark green, almost like a perfume bottle. It's ornately engraved and the top is closed with a small rubber cork. It smells exactly like the witch's venom and the color inside matches the color of her nails. Monre had heard stories of witches keeping a sort of antivenom in order to keep their prey alive longer. The thought is disgusting but completely welcome right now if it will save Nick's life.

He hesitates before he gives it to the younger man, a terrible thought crossing his mind. What if it wasn't an antivenom at all but a concentrated dose of the witch's venom instead? If he gave it to Nick, it would probably kill him instantly. He didn't want to take that chance but he needed to do something or Nick was as good as dead anyway. Glancing at the unconscious Grimm on the table, Eddie frowned and uncorked the bottle, bringing it to his own lips instead. Better it be tested on him than Nick…

The contents inside had barely touched his lips when his entire body began to tingle. He dropped to his knees, bottle clenched tightly in one hand and the other clutching the table leg. For one horrible second, he thought his assumption had been correct and the poison inside was a heavier, more lethal dose. The scratches across his leg, wrists, and face he'd received from the witch ached and burned, throbbing mercilessly with each heartbeat and Eddie grit his teeth to avoid crying out. Something hot and fiery oozed from the scratches, trickling down his face and through the denim of his jeans. It was thick and black, much like the witch's blood had been, and it stained his skin like oil. His body felt like it was on fire and he felt his temperature skyrocket as the poison left his system. He was shaking all over, his grip on the table tightening to the point he could hear wood cracking. He felt like he was being dunked in lava and doused with ice water all at the same time. It was excruciating and it felt like it took hours rather than a few seconds.

Monroe found himself face down on the ground, breathing raggedly and gasping as the rest of the poison extracted itself from his bloodstream. It landed in a puddle next to him, black and greasy and terrible. It took several seconds for him to regain his composure and even longer for the trembling to stop. God, if it had been that bad for him, he had no idea what it would do to Nick. It could kill him while removing the poison which was exactly the opposite of what Monroe was trying to accomplish. Still, if he didn't try it Nick would be killed by the poison anyway. He was damned either way…

He got to his knees shakily, keeping a firm grip on the edge of the table and pulling himself up until he was standing. The pain is beginning to subside but it still feels like he just grabbed a live wire with both hands. He looks at Nick, torn by what he should do. He couldn't let him die, not like this…not when they'd come so far. He looks down at the bottle in his hand and sighs heavily, coming to a decision.

Nick is still unconscious, his chest barely rising with each shallow breath he takes, and Monroe knows he can't wait much longer. He cups Nick's face gently, lifting his head a little off the table. "Nick?" He doesn't get an answer but he's not really surprised by it. Still, he feels like he has to try. "Nick, come on man…I need you to open your eyes for me…" Nick doesn't move, doesn't even register that Monroe has spoken and the blutbad sighs. He used to be annoyed by the fact that Nick could talk his ear off at any given point in time but now he'd give anything to hear his voice. "Alright man, you forced me to do this…" Monroe mutters before he uncorks the bottle with his teeth and takes a swig of the contents, the liquid burning and tingling all over again. Without waiting for an invitation, he presses his lips to Nick's and forces the liquid into the detective's mouth.

Nick swallows spasmodically and a tight, pain filled grimace instantly crosses his face. He buckles onto one side, arms and legs drawing in and curling him into a tight ball. The table is already smeared with his blood and a small amount of black poison begins to mingle with red and soak into the wood. Nick jerks again, long legs flailing out violently, and his face is masked in pure agony.

Monroe watches in mild horror as the younger man continues to writhe on the table top, furious with himself for having been the one who caused it. The black ooze seeping from his wounds is thicker now, staining his shirt darkly and forming tiny rivulets on the tabletop. He jerks again and nearly falls off the table but Monroe moves forward quickly and catches him, lowering them both to the ground carefully.

Nick is shaking violently in his arms, his skin impossibly hot and sweat causing his clothes to stick to him. His jaws are clenched so tightly that Monroe worries for a second he may break a tooth. A hoarse, guttural cry escapes from Nick's mouth and his back arches painfully. All Monroe can do is hold him and pray for it to be over.

There's a puddle of black, glassy poison beneath Nick now and Monroe wonders how much got into his system in the first place. It had been coursing through Nick's bloodstream longer than his so it was possible that it had somehow amplified while inside of him. Either way, an alarming amount of it was now pooling below him, staining the floor black with its intensity.

One hand latches onto Monroe's wrist and the blutbad actually winces at the pressure; any tighter and Nick would be in danger of snapping his wrist in half. He doesn't move his hand though, he knows Nick needs something to latch on to. He sweeps his fingers through the detective's hair, brushing sweat-damp strands away from his face and trying to give him some semblance of comfort. "Come Nick…you can do this…stay with me…"

The detective is breathing hard and harsh, his face contorted into a terrible grimace. What little color has returned to his skin is an unhealthy flush, a clear indication of the raging fever rushing through his veins. His body can't take much more of this and Eddie knows it.

Nick's body goes rigid suddenly, his back arched sharply and his eyes rolling back in his head. He starts shaking so violently Monroe lets go for fear of hurting him. Nick hits the floor with a dull thud and lays there twitching, limbs jerking spasmodically and body shaking all over. Monroe realizes with a cold, sick sensation in his stomach that Nick is having a seizure.

He watches helplessly for a few seconds, Nick thrashing and jerking terribly for about a minute longer before it stops so suddenly its almost like it never happened. Instantly, he gathers Nick in his arms again, unable to quell the surge of panic in his chest. Nick is limp and pliable like a rag doll in his arms and Monroe fears the worst.

Keeping the younger man cradled protectively in his arms, he presses his ear to Nick's sternum and listens carefully. It takes a second before he can hear over the rush of blood in his own ears well enough to detect a heartbeat. Its faint and tremulous but its there and it's the most beautiful sound Monroe's ever heard in his life. For a minute he can't bring himself to move away, he keeps his ear pressed to Nick's chest and listens to his heartbeat just reassure himself he's still there.

When he finally is able to pull away, he sighs heavily and presses a firm kiss to the top of Nick's forehead, caressing his face gently. "God…you're going to be the death of me, stupid Grimm…" He mumbles, keeping Nick cradled close in his arms and saying a silent prayer of thanks that for the moment he's still alive.

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**Hope you guys liked it! :D**


	4. The Big, Not So Bad Wolf

**Okay, so just a heads up: this chapter may get a little confusing O.o I sincerely apologize for that; I'm trying something new and attempting to write from the wolf's point of view so if it doesn't make sense I'm really sorry! Here's a bit of a break down to help with the chapter:**

**The human- how the wolf refers to Monroe**  
**The Grimm- Nick, obviously lol**  
**It- usually the wolf but sometimes refers to Nick as well (confusing, I know!)**

**Also, I'm not sure how blutbaden change, its never really been shown lol! This chapter isn't so much focused on Monroe's physical change as the mental shift between him and the wolf. Savvy? ^.-**

**I hope you all like it!**

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Monroe is good with his hands but he'll be the first to admit he's absolute crap at sewing. Especially when said sewing happens to be stitching closed the claw marks left on the side of the still unconscious Grimm on the living room table. His fingers are slick with Nick's blood and the needle keeps slipping and Monroe has run out of curse words and has resorted to making some up. It doesn't help matters but it makes him feel better if nothing else. He needs something to take his mind off Nick's limp form on the table and the wolf growling and snarling in his head.

He'd managed to find a spool of thick, black thread in a cabinet and a sewing needle not too far away. He didn't want to know what it had been used for previously; he'd heard enough stories of witch's sewing their victims mouths shut so they couldn't scream to guess what purpose the thread had provided. He sterilized the needle over the stove and discovered a bottle of rubbing alcohol under the sink. He's less than pleased with the lack of usable medical supplies in the cabin but he figures beggars can't be choosers in this kind of situation.

Nick has yet to regain consciousness and the shallow rise and fall of his chest is the only thing that assures Monroe he's even still alive. He's alarmingly pale but his skin is feverish to the touch and Monroe isn't sure how much of that is from the poison or from the wound itself. He tries not to think about the possibility of infection as he stitches the second gash closed.

Christ, they're deep. Each one stretches from the bottom of Nick's shoulder blade to the top of his hip and the skin is flayed back exposing muscle and sinew below. Each one is stained black and red from the mixture of blood and poison that continues to ooze from the wounds and Monroe is almost hesitant to close them for fear some of the poison will remain in Nick's system. He still smells heavily of sulfur and while its not nearly as strong as it had been before, it doesn't make him feel better. The younger man's pallor worries him though and judging from the amount of blood loss, he wouldn't be surprised if shock had started to set in. He couldn't take the chance of Nick tumbling headfirst into hypovolemic shock because the wounds didn't get stitched closed in time.

Monroe manages to get the first one cleaned and closed with little trouble but the running commentary of grunts and growls from the wolf inside his head is making it hard to concentrate. It's taking every shred of self-control he possesses not to give in to the wolf's demands of releasing it in his place. Monroe is afraid to risk that because with Nick as weak and vulnerable as he is right now, the wolf might see him as prey and try to kill him rather than protect him. He can't take that chance.

The needle slips again on the second gash and Monroe literally has to bite back the snarl of frustration that tries to break free. His teeth feel sharper, his vision hazing red for a second, and he shakes his head sharply. He needs to focus! Nick's life is depending on him right now! He grabs the needle again and manages to get a better grip. The thread is shiny with Nick's blood and the needle is completely red but it's all he has to work with right now. The witch didn't exactly keep a suture kit in her pantry.

He manages to get the second gash closed finally and he has to step away from the table for a minute to clear the haze from his head. The smell of Nick's blood is strong and overpowering his senses and the effort not to lose control is making him dizzy. He grips the edge of the sink tightly, closing his eyes and trying to breathe through his mouth so he can't smell Nick's blood. It doesn't help all that much because now he can almost taste it and its driving the wolf crazy. A rumbling growl builds in his chest, vibrating its way out through his mouth and he grips the sink tighter. Focus!

He shakes his head swiftly and manages to clear the red haze that blurs his vision. Taking a few more deep breaths, he's able to ground himself enough to go back into the room and pick up the needle and thread again. Two down, one to go. He gets a good grip on the needle and lowers it to Nick's torn flesh.

Nick remains completely oblivious to all of this, his eyes closed and damp hair sticking to his forehead. Monroe is pretty sure Nick needs professional help but they're stuck here for the night so he's doing the best he can in the meantime. It worries him that the younger man hasn't even so much as flinched during the makeshift stitching process but he figures the longer Nick stays unconscious and avoids the pain from the lack of local anesthesia, the better.

The last gash is nearly closed when Monroe starts to get dizzy again. He's not going to be able to control the wolf much longer and he knows it. He just needs to get the wound closed and then it will all be over…

The stitches are crooked and uneven and they tend to get worse the longer Monroe goes. Has he mentioned he's crap at sewing? There's only about half an inch left to close and he's struggling to see past the red haze in his vision. Blood is pounding in his ears and his head is swimming. He's losing control and there's not much he can do about it at this point; the wolf refuses to be contained any longer. He's struggling internally, trying to reason with it but his words fall on deaf ears. The wolf wants out NOW and there's not a damn thing Monroe can do to stop it.

The world tips sideways in a blur of red fog and Monroe isn't in control anymore. He's on his hands and knees again, breathing raggedly through sharp canines and elongated jaws. His body hair is coarser now, thick and wiry, and it presses against his clothes uncomfortably. Bones are shifting and rearranging inside and while he's still bipedal, he's definitely more wolf than human now. The wolf takes over completely and Monroe is powerless to stop it.

Blood. It can smell sulfur and blood and it's hot and fresh and close. There's a continuous litany of words from somewhere deep inside and it sounds a lot like metal scraping over metal. The human is trying to explain the Grimm on the table but the wolf smells blood and primal instincts kick into overdrive. The wolf ignores the furtive pleas of its human counterpart and turns its attention to the injured Grimm on the table.

The Grimm isn't large but its crumpled appearance on the table makes it appear smaller, less threatening than it would normally. The wolf's eyes narrow and a feral growl rumbles in its throat. Grimms are predators, hunters, and they can't be trusted. Grimms had hunted blutbaden for centuries and this one wasn't any different. But it can't kill it. There's something that holds the wolf back from tearing the Grimm's throat out. Beneath the blood and sulfur, the Grimm smells like pack.

The realization is surprising to say the least and the wolf snarls at the human inside, incredulous and disbelieving. The human is snapping right back and there's a moment of nothing but incomprehensible noise between the two of them as the other tries to get the upper hand. The wolf wins, it usually does, or at least it did for a while, and glares back at the Grimm on the table. Grimms and blutbaden don't mix, they never have, and the wolf is snarling angrily because… it can't kill it.

It growls in absolute frustration and takes a step closer, eyeing the Grimm critically. How could this thing, this _Grimm_, smell like pack? It didn't make sense but the wolf couldn't deny it, it recognized the Grimm as pack. The human provides a name, Nick, but the wolf ignores it. It didn't associate the Grimm with a name or a job or a face…it recognized it by smell. That alone was what kept it from attacking. The Grimm was pack and wolves don't attack their pack members.

The Grimm is unconscious, breathing soft and shallow, and the wolf approaches cautiously. It can't deny the fact that the Grimm smells familiar, a scent its always known, but it's still not completely comfortable with the idea. Every baser instinct is telling it to rip the Grimm's throat out while it's weak and helpless but it can't. It feels oddly protective and territorial, it feels the need to defend what rightfully belongs to it.

The table is a hindrance and the wolf grabs the Grimm by the shoulder and drags it off the table and onto the ground. The Grimm makes a soft whimpering sound in the back of its throat as it hits the floor with a dull thud and the wolf's ears flatten a bit at this. It nudges the Grimm's face but gets nothing in response. The wolf smells blood again and looks down to see a fresh trickle of crimson oozing from the wounds. It eyes the shitty stitching job and the human makes some kind of defensive remark. The wolf ignores it and inches closer, inspecting the wounds.

They're ugly and they smell like witch and the wolf scrunches its nose against the smell. The Grimm smells like witch and it's not at all happy with that. It needs to get rid of that scent. It laps at the wounds, tongue scraping over the uneven stitches and cleaning away the fresh blood that leaks from the gashes. The Grimm twitches ever so slightly and the wolf nuzzles against uninjured flesh to soothe it. It feels the need to clean the Grimm like it would a pup, the need to groom and wash away the layers of dust and blood that stick to its skin. The wolf may not understand it but the Grimm is pack now and it recognizes the need to care for and protect pack members.

Layers of dust and blood and witch are carefully washed away until the wolf is satisfied the Grimm is clean. The Grimm is shivering and the wolf can taste sweat on it's skin; more pack behavior kicks in and it needs to keep the Grimm warm. It nudges the Grimm's arms and legs until it's curled on its side and the wolf can curl itself around it. The wolf circles twice and finally curls around the Grimm, half covering it with its own body. The shivering seems to lessen and the wolf nuzzles the Grimm's neck gently.

The wolf lays there, wrapped around the Grimm, for close to an hour before it smells it. It's a hot smell, like burning rubber and asphalt, and it's coming from the Grimm. The human is shrill as it speaks, concern making its voice sound like a high pitched whistle, but the wolf is looking at the Grimm. The wolf doesn't know what the smell indicates but it knows it's nothing good. The Grimm starts to shake then, violent tremors that are much stronger than the shivers that plagued it earlier. The burning rubber smell gets worse and wolf scrunches its nose against it. The human recognizes the situation and is panicking inside. It's annoying. The wolf doesn't recognize anything about the situation, it just recognizes the need to protect pack.

It shifts its body over the Grimm's, covering it with its own and holding it in place. The Grimm's eyes are rolled back and beneath the smell of burning rubber there's the bitter smell of sulfur and the wolf sees a small amount of black fluid oozing from the stitched wounds. It growls at the ooze, instantly furious at it for hurting the Grimm. The ooze stops a few seconds later but the Grimm continues to shake. The wolf keeps it pinned to the floor, nuzzling its face gently and licking its throat.

The shaking finally subsides and the Grimm lays motionless and breathing hard. The wolf can hear its heart beating fast and turbulent and it stays close trying to offer some kind of comfort. Eventually, both the Grimm's heart rate and breathing slow down and it lapses back into unconsciousness. The wolf isn't happy with this but the Grimm no longer smells like sulfur so it finds solace in that.

The human is still upset and wolf growls, translating the sound of the Grimm's breathing to shut it up. The human is trying to take control again but the wolf adamantly refuses; the human wasn't doing a satisfactory job of taking care of the Grimm in the first place. It ignores the human's requests and turns back to the Grimm.

The Grimm is still unconscious but it looks more peaceful than it had when the sulfur smell still clung to its skin. The wolf remains on top of it, offering both warmth and comfort to the new pack member. It still doesn't understand how this Grimm managed to become pack but the wolf vows to protect it with its life if necessary.

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**I hope you guys liked it! :D**


	5. Why Monroe Isn't Allowed In Hospitals

**Whoo! Final chapter! Thank you all so much for the awesome reviews! I'm so happy you guys liked it! :D**

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Monroe wakes up with a crick in his neck and a sore back from sleeping on the floor. He looks around in confusion for a second, trying to remember where he is. He has no idea what time it is or when he changed back into his human form but he knows it was sometime during the night. Grey light is filtering through the curtained windows and he knows that if it isn't morning already, it's close.

He looks down, realizing for the first time that he's laying practically on top of Nick. That had been the last thing the wolf had been doing so it only made sense that Eddie was still in its place. Still, he hadn't realized he was literally on top of the detective until just now.

Nick's face is still pale but its nowhere near the waxy, grey color it had been the day before. His breathing is soft and shallow but he looks relaxed and Eddie is relieved that he can't smell sulfur on him anymore. What he does smell, however, is infection, salty and sickly sweet, emanating from the wound. It doesn't surprise him that the wound is infected, he'd actually be surprised if it wasn't, but it doesn't bother him as much as the poison. Infection he can deal with, venom is something else entirely.

Nick stirs beneath him, moving by his own will for the first time in hours, and Monroe is instantly hovering over him. "Nick?"

The detective opens his eyes slowly, blinking shakily for a few seconds. His eyes are dark and glassy from fever but he manages to focus on Monroe for a second, smiling weakly. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Monroe mumbled back and its only through sheer force of will that he's able to keep his voice from cracking with relief. The seizures had scared him senseless and he'd been worried about the ramifications they may have had on Nick's mental state when he regained consciousness. He seemed to be at least semi-lucid for the time being though and that's all Monroe could ask for. He brings his hands up, cupping Nick's cheek gently and feeling the feverish warmth rolling off of him. "How do you feel?"

Nick leans into his hand and his eyes begin to close again and Monroe is almost convinced he's lapsed back into unconsciousness when he answers him. "Tired…" The word comes out as more of a breath than an answer but Monroe isn't picky. "And sore…"

The blutbad nods even though he knows Nick can't see him. "Yeah well, blood loss and poison tend to have that affect so I've been told."

Nick makes a soft "hmm" sound in the back of his throat and goes silent again and Monroe knows he's unconscious once more. Monroe watches him for a few seconds, stroking his face gently and listening to him breathe. He knows he needs to get him to a hospital and get those wounds taken care of but he also knows the trip back is going to be hard on Nick. It's a good five miles back to the car and then another seven back into town. Nick was sleeping peacefully now but the minute they moved he was going to be jarred awake by pain and fever once more. He tries to avoid the inevitable for another five minutes before he figures the faster they get back, the faster Nick can get better.

He finds a heavy black cloak hanging on the back of a chair in the kitchen and wraps it around Nick, tucking the edges under in an attempt to keep him warm. The detective's shirt is ruined and his jacket is covered in dried blood so a makeshift covering is the best Monroe can do for now. Nick moans softly when Monroe picks him up, slinging the arm from his uninjured side across his shoulder and keeping him pressed tightly to his side. Nick's head is hanging down and he's more unconscious than awake but Monroe will take what he can get at this point. He takes one last look at the witch's cabin, making a silent promise to burn it to the ground the minute Nick is better, and takes off into the trees.

Nick is able to stumble along for about a mile before what little strength he has gives out and he's limp and heavy in Monroe's arms. The blutbad gives him credit for the distance though, he was surprised Nick had lasted as long as he had. When he finally does sink to his knees, Monroe catches him easily and carefully hoists him onto one shoulder, mindful of his injuries. Nick is heavy and boneless on his shoulder like a sack of flour but Monroe just focuses on getting them back to the road.

The forest is getting lighter but Monroe can't see the sun behind the heavy layers of clouds overhead. The light filtering through the trees is a water-washed grey, not actually sunlight but the kind of light that comes from burning through thick layers of cloud and ozone. It makes the forest seem ethereal and that much older and Monroe can feel the magic humming through them. He decides when Nick is well enough, he'll bring him back out here and give him a lesson over herbology but he needs to get him better first.

The trees give way to the road after another mile and Monroe can see the domed curve of his yellow station wagon from the path they're on. He tightens his hold on Nick and makes the last few feet in a matter of seconds, coming to a stop next to the passenger door and fishing the keys out of his pocket. He unlocks the door and drops Nick into the front seat gently, wrestling the seatbelt over him and managing to get him buckled in enough to be satisfied. He walks around to the driver's side and slides in behind the steering wheel, cranking the engine and feeling a wash of relief come over him when it roars to life. Glancing over at Nick, he shifts the car into drive and takes off back in the direction of town.

**OOOOO**

Nick opens his eyes to the smell of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol. There's an unfamiliar ceiling above him, white and dotted with man-made imperfections in the plaster. A dim, florescent light is glowing above his head and there's a whoosh and whir of monitors to his left. He's in the hospital, that much is certain, but he has a hard time remembering what led him there.

Case gone bad? No, he hadn't been at work for the past couple of days. Car accident? He moves his arms and legs fractionally and decides that, while sore, the injuries aren't related to flipping a car. His side throbs suddenly and he nearly gasps, one hand moving to brush over the thick layers of gauze wrapping around his waist. He concentrates for a second, trying to remember what happened, when the memories of the witch come flooding to the surface.

He didn't remember a lot of it, more pain than anything else, but he remembered being stuck in the mineshaft with Monroe. He frowns, thinking back to the blutbad in question and trying to discern what had become of him. A twitch to his right is answer enough.

Monroe is leaning against his bed, arms pillowed beneath his chin and his eyes are closed lightly. He looks like he's asleep and Nick vaguely wonders how long he'd been holding a bedside vigil before exhaustion won out. He reaches out carefully, wincing a bit as his muscles complain against the movement, and touches Monroe's arm.

The blutbad is awake instantly, eyes glowing red and scanning the room for any sign of a threat. He looks up at the monitors and then to the door, slightly confused about what woke him up in the first place. Then he looks down at Nick, eyes fading back to their natural color as he sighs. "Hey," he breathes, sinking back into the chair next to the bed and looking at him carefully.

"Hey yourself." Nick smiles when Monroe rolls his eyes. "How long have you been here?"

The blutbad shrugs out the kinks in his shoulders and looks up at the clock. "As long as you have."

"How long is that?"

"About two days."

Nick frowns, his eyebrows knitting together. "Two days? I've been in the hospital for two days?"

Monroe just shrugs like its not a conversation worth having. "They had to get the infection under control and you needed a transfusion. A pretty big one I might add." Something flashes through Monroe's eyes that Nick can't determine but it's gone before he can question it. "How do you feel?"

Nick thinks about that for a second and comes to the conclusion that more than anything he's just tired. He feels like he's been hit by a truck and forced to run a marathon. "Tired," he admits and he has a feeling they've had this conversation before.

Monroe nods and adjusts his chair, bringing it closer to the bed and resting his chin in one hand. "That's understandable. The doctors said you'd have to be laid up for a couple days to let your body recover but they said you should be back on your feet in about a week."

"When are they going to release me from the hospital?"

"Tomorrow probably."

"Tomorrow?" Nick doesn't mean it to come out as whine but it does and he feels stupidly childish as he lays in the hospital bed.

Monroe shrugs again and holds his hands up in surrender. "Hey man, it's not my call. You're being treated for blood loss and infection on top of getting over eighty stitches in your side."

"Over eighty?" Nick asks incredulously, one hand unconsciously drifting to his side beneath the flimsy hospital blanket.

"Yeah," Monroe asserts with a nod, glancing to the door conspiratorially. "I had to made up some story about you being attacked by a bear when we were out hiking. I'm not sure they bought it." He smiles a little but it looks tired and Nick is beginning to wonder how much Monroe did for him while they were in the woods. "I'm pretty sure the nurses are ready for me to leave though, they don't seem very comfortable around me when they come in to check on you."

Nick almost laughs and looks at him. "Why's that?"

"Well, I growled at a couple of them."

The does get a laugh and Nick almost immediately regrets it as his side begins to sear with white hot pain. He grimaces and he can hear the monitors next to his bed beeping shrilling and Monroe is above him, smoothing his hair with one hand and gripping his arm with the other.

A petite blond nurse rushes in after a second and feeds something into the IV drip in Nick's arm and almost instantly the pain begins to lessen. Nick's eyes are still squeezed shut tightly but he can hear her bustling around with the machines and writing something down on the chart at the foot of his bed. There's a low, rumbling growl off to his right followed by a startled squeak from the nurse and he reaches out blindly, grasping Monroe's hand tightly in his own. Almost immediately, the growling stops and Monroe is back at his side, cupping his face gently with one large hand.

Nick opens his eyes finally and sees Monroe staring down at him. He tries for a smile but it turns out as more of a wince and he figures that's the best he can do at the moment. Monroe releases a heavy sigh and sinks back down next to him, keeping Nick's hand clutched in his own. "God, you're going to be the death of me one day, I swear."

Nick does manage to smile this time and its apologetic as he squeezes the blutbad's hand lightly. "I'm sorry for all the trouble I put you through."

"You better be," Monroe mutters but there's no heat in his voice and his hand is gentle as he cards his fingers through Nick's hair. Nick is beginning to feel drowsy and weightless and has no doubt that whatever the nurse had given him in the cause. Monroe seems to sense this and he scoots closer, resting one hand on Nick's cheek and keeping the other entwined with Nick's. "Go back to sleep," he mumbles softly and Nick is already half-way there. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Nick smiles tiredly and leans into Monroe's hand, feeling the blutbad stroke his cheek gently with the pad of his thumb. He closes his eyes slowly and lets himself drift back into sleep, feeling safe and secure with Monroe by his side.

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**Thanks for reading! :D**


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